


Fucking Werewolves.

by disturbed_hound



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, At least there will be a happy ending, Author does what he wants, Happy Ending, M/M, Omegaverse!, Poor!Stiles, Werewolf!Derek, alpha!Derek, definitely not canon, probably not canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 16:21:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7229794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disturbed_hound/pseuds/disturbed_hound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Werewolves aren't exactly loved in Stiles age and time. So imagine his surprise when two move to school and show interest in Stiles.</p>
<p>or rather, Stiles opens his mouth when he shouldn't and is forced to attend dinner-- and he has no doubts that he's the main course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fucking Werewolves.

**Author's Note:**

> So, here I am. First work ever in this fandom, and you can bet that it's probably not going to be your typical teen wolf fic. I'm sorry if it sucks, I'm just writing what comes to mind because I love writing. Only issue is that I suck at writing so here we go!
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I apologize for the tagless-ness of it all. I'm not sure what I want to do with it yet, we'll see when it gets there. But I'll add warnings and tags as we go, especially to the note section. And if anyone wants to beta this shit for me, I'm all ears guys. (Not to mention maybe someone to co-write or plot it out? I dunno, I've never finished a fic on here before but I wanna start somewhere. And sterek just so happens to be where I want to start. : P )
> 
> Anyway, so yeah! Sorry if it sucks, and thanks for taking the time to actually glance at it!

Stiles was used to growing up with nothing. Not a penny to his or his family's name, clothes hanging on by threads and "love" a word not in their vocabulary. It had been the same ever since he was born, except now it was worse. He was more or less the middle child. His older brother was barely around, off making a life for himself instead of hanging about in bumfuck no where. And yet, with every step his brother took _away_ from the Stilinski family-- it was another step Stiles was expected to fall into. He was supposed to look up to him. To do everything the way he did. Which was difficult as is, with him being the perfect child and Stiles the fuck up. Not that his family would admit to that; it was obvious. 

But, he'd be damned if he ever let that get to him. It was why he stood in his younger siblings room (they were twins, two boys. Two boys who had the bar set low for them-- they had Stiles to thank for that.) pulling an oversized shirt over the first's head. It was a hand-me-down, some old tattered thing that Stiles himself had worn when he was about their age. Which was six. 

"You're all set for your first day, Mitch. Why not head down and see if there's any breakfast?" Mitch's feet carried him so swiftly out of the room that Stiles fought a cringe, as if he could sense him tripping down the old rackety stairs. Mitch was the clumsy one, taking after Stiles. God help him that be the only trait he inherited from his older brother. His twin however, Matthew, took more after the eldest of them all. Eric was his name-- and yes, Stiles couldn't help but fume about how it was _him_ saddled with the name of their dead polish grandfather. Another finger pointing at him, just _screaming_ : "different". Exactly why he went by Stiles-- as weird a name as it was, it was a helluva lot easier to pronounce than whatever his grandfather had been stuck with. 

"And _you_ , Matthew. You show them kids how smart you are, you hear me? Don't let them think any different." After a pat on the tush he was scrambling out of the room, after whatever breakfast had been set up on the table in a sort of "free for all" event. 

He himself never ate. Supposed it was why he was all _lank_ and no _y_. It was certainly a understatement, however, to say that he was lanky. He was tall, but not in a looming sort of way. His oversized clothes hung off him in all the wrong ways, and he could only pray he never out grew the red hoodie he always wore. It hugged him tightly, but had enough to it that suggested he wasn't all skin and bones. His shoes were a large pair of converse, scuffed and falling apart. He always wondered what it must have been like to be Eric. To always get what he wanted because he was the first. Never to have to worry about clothes not fitting, or duct taping his shoes so that they wouldn't fall apart during gym. Everything had been perfect until Stiles and the twins had come along. Stiles alone had pushed Eric to be distant, but when the twins were announced he was gone. As if he couldn't stand the idea of not having all attention on him.

Stiles never let thoughts like these get to him, however. He was the good son. The selfless son. The one who didn't complain when he was asked to do a task or two, or twenty. The one who made sure there was enough food in the house to make sure the twins were fed. Never himself though. He was selfless. And yet, for such a selfless person he had a lot of selfish thoughts. Couldn't help his _want_. His _need_ for something more than the rickety old house. The one that was cracking and falling apart. The walls splitting into cracks, ones that sometimes spiraled from ceiling to floor and leaving layers of dust all inside the house. The floors that seemed to always end up dirty no matter how many times Stiles swept and mopped. There was always some patch of dirt. But no matter how much he begged and pleaded, the house was never fixed. It was a wonder how none of them weren't sick all the time, with all the dust in the air. But, he knew when a battle was lost-- so he didn't complain. 

His parents tried, they really did. Or rather, his father did. And he supposed things would have gone a lot better if not for the death of his mother. Stiles couldn't remember her, not for the life of him. She was only a stranger in the photographs around the house. A stranger-- his own mother. But she had passed after the birth of Stiles, and in turn, broken his father. Five years down the line and in came the letter that they were bankrupt. Three months later his father was remarrying. Not for money, but for someone to help around the house. And hell if he wanted that then Stiles was all he needed. The twins came at a later date, making their already tight budget thread thin. Neither were home much, and neither paid much attention to Stiles unless it was to ask for money or to baby sit. But he didn't mind, not really. It made things easier when it came to planning his big move.

Stiles wasn't about to let their issues with money hold him back. He was going to get into whatever college he wanted to, it didn't have to be the best. And when he did, you could bet he was taking his stash of hundreds and leaving for good. There was no looking back.

It was because of this reason that he always studied hard in school, never was a paper done late or a good grade taken for granted. It didn't mean he didn't struggle, however. He had ADHD and no medicine to account for it-- he was also pretty sure depression was there but he didn't look into it. It wasn't like he could do anything for it. What Stiles did do, however, was try his best. And it seemed to be enough with all the A's he scored. 

But, school in no way was fun. It was like his second job, and it wasn't something he looked forward to. Hell, he didn't even look forward to the summer-- because it meant either being home all day or working his ass off at whatever summer job he had taken. As you can imagine he wasn't exactly mister popular, even with the last year being his senior year-- and with it being a small school. And small school meant everyone knew everything. You know what else they also knew? They knew about every goddamn fight that went on between your parents. They knew all the drama discussed at lunch. And there was nothing Stiles could do to stop it. So this was why he didn't have any friends. Any but one, and his name was Scott. Bless the poor boy, for choosing him as his best friend from the get go. Ever since they were little first graders-- and oh he better stop before tears made it into his eyes. Fact was he appreciated Scott, even if he was slowly making his way up the social hierarchy and didn't have much to do with Stiles anymore. No, not since he'd scored a date with Allison-- talk about lucky dog. And again, he didn't mind-- not at all. Never would he attempt to hold someone back. The guy was clearly in love, what kind of best friend would he be if he tried to come between that? 

 

The second he stepped out of his home he was a new being. A smile graced his face, eyes lighting up and crinkling when he stepped out. Those dull brown optics changed immediately to amber, burning brightly as if he held two suns inside him. Two fires that refused to be put out. A good thing there was two, too. One just wouldn't be one to fuel him. He enjoyed pretending that school would actually be enjoyable this time, and not some hell bent route he was forced to take by the government. Life was good, emphasize that with a smiley face, please. 

But he wasn't there yet. First he made his way down the stairs, feet knocking against the wood and eyes narrowing at the creak of each step. He always assumed he'd be the one to fall through the damn stairs. Maybe he would have, if he weighed a little more. But not yet, and he took that as a small victory. 

When he made it to the kitchen his father was pressing light kisses to the top of each twins forehead, a wet paper towel dabbing at their mouths to clean up the toast crumbs left behind. He grabbed a slice of toast for himself, unphased by the staleness of it. He'd gotten use to that years ago. It was only when it had molded that he would turn up his nose. They'd talked about how the twins would get to school, during the summer. His father would drive them, and Stiles would walk. And after school? Stiles would walk home, while they were picked up by their mother. 

And yes, their mother. She was his stepmom, and hadn't managed to ever breach that barrier. He liked her well enough, and she did what she could around the house. But it was never to the point where he called her: _mom_. Only one person deserved that title and she was long dead. 

"I'll probably be home late today-- first day and all." He offered, leaning against the fridge door as his father dug through it for his misplaced coffee. Forgetful old sap. He reached to the top of the fridge before handing him his mug. A look of gratitude passed over his expression before it was drawn taught. "Be home by six, your mom's going to need help with dinner tonight." Which was what he said every night. He didn't even need to glance over at his stepmother to know this was a lie. She always dismissed him when it came to this, told him to go and have fun. Sad thing was there was never anywhere else for him to be. So when he came home when he was told, it wasn't that he was obeying his fathers orderes. There was just nothing better do to.

Stiles brought his hand up to his forehead, waving it off in mock salute as he pulled his bag over his shoulder, a grin gracing his features. "Aye aye, captain." Before he could hear his fathers grouchy response he was out the door, pulling it closed behind him and setting himself at a trotting pace. He supposed he could have asked Scott to give him rides. But fact was he didn't want Scott around at the wrong times-- example, when his parents were fighting. He also hated the look of pity Scott gave him every time he saw the condition of his house. The guy meant well, but seriously, come on now. 

 

The walk to school wasn't long, and even if it was he wouldn't mind. He loved being outside. Loved watching the leaves move with the wind, and the clouds over the sky. It was nice; peaceful even. Which was a lot more to be said about the outside than school. So to say that it calmed him before having to deal with literal hell, was the truth. 

Hell, it even seemed like it would be a nice day. Until he got to school. Inside everyone was hushed murmurs, hands cupping their mouths as they leaned close to their friends ear, eyes darting every which way as they took in whatever new found information. Stiles felt his blood run cold, a possible panic attack suddenly building up. Had something happened that he wasn't aware of? Did his parents have a bad fight recently? No one had really seen him walking, and even then why would that matter? Plenty of people walked to school. He leaned against the wall, struggling to find what was wrong when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. Oh thank god, _Scott_.

"Hey man, did you hear? We've got two new students-- both siblings!" 

That was what the fuss was about? Sure they didn't get very many new kids very often, but everyone was making it seem like someone had died. 

"That's all? Then why's everyone all..." He gestured vaguely with his hands, signaling as if he were trying to describe an explosion. 

" _Because_ ," Scott began with a roll of his eyes, the hand on his shoulder dragging him away from the door and closer to Scott. He leaned over like all the other students in the hallway, and and pointed to the office. "they're _werewolves_."

Werewolves. They weren't unheard of, and they certainly weren't very liked. They typically kept to small towns like this, just to avoid situations like this one. They didn't enjoy being fussed over. And they damn sure didn't enjoy eyes on them. They were apex predators, but they acted like humans were the hungry dogs. Ready to exploit them for the slightest mistake.

And there was truth in that. Most humans wanted werewolves _gone_. It was why there was so little of them. Any large packs were often destroyed by hunters, and if not they were split apart and they weren't allowed to contact each other. It was awful. And they were lucky that the werewolves didn't band together to take out the human race. Probably what they were scared of in the first place, really. 

But all the werewolves he had heard of were loners. Typically their parents raised them alone, didn't like putting them in public schools. For good reason too.

"And get this, they don't have family. They're teens living on their own."

" _What?_ " In truth he wasn't that surprised by this. He'd be even more surprised if they had a happy family with no issues. 

"Jackson tried to say hi to the guy, probably trying to recruit him-- you know how he is. And no joke, the dude just snarled in his face and shoved him out of the way. They're totally _insane_."

"Scott, what did I tell you about your usuage of the word "totally"? You sound like a 13 year old and unless you want me to--"

"Stiles you don't get it!" To be frank, he thought he got this situation very well. Two werewolf teens moves into their small town-- chaos ensues. What else was there to it?

"What don't I get?"

"The guy's an _alpha_." Oh. Ooh no. No no no no no. Alphas... Alphas only came to human towns when they were attempting to grow their pack. And that meant picking a human and forcing the bite on them. Don't even get him started on all the sex that happened afterwards, probably also forced. But there was nothing that could be done by it. It was werewolf tradition, and unless the humans really did want a werewolf war there was no breaking the truce between them. But fuck. That meant that sometime this year the alpha would choose a human and off they would go. Oh god, anyone but Lydia. But fuck, she was such an obvious choice. He wasn't even worried about Scott. They'd hear the way his lungs didn't inflate properly and turn up a nose. Hell, he didn't even think twice about himself. Nothing but skin and bones, remember? Werewolves wanted those who were valuable to the pack. Not sickly looking. 

"Goddammit. Jackson's already ruined his chances! Why couldn't it be Jackson?" 

"Stiles!"

"Alright, alright, serious Stiles time. Just lay low dude, not like either of us will get picked for their werewolf fuckery."

 

"Werewolf fuckery." 

A gruff voice spoke behind the teen, causing him to cringe inwardly. One look at Scott's terrified face and he could tell that this whole conversation was a mistake. Slowly he turned around, not wanting to startle the big bad wolf and make him rip off his head. After all, he made people want to do that who didn't even have werewolf rage boiling inside. 

"Ahh ahaha... Oh you know, uh, werewolf _fuckery_ , it's where you uh--" He cut himself off, eyes going wide at the sight before him. The dude loomed over him, staring down at him with a glare that could kill. His eyebrows were drawn together in focus, as if he was considering whether or not to kill Stiles here and now. His shoulders were broad, blocking out anything and everything but him. It was...kind of terrifying. Scratch that, very terrifying. 

"Where we what." Ooh that tone was not good. He wanted to kill Stiles, he wanted to kill Stiles first chance he got. He was about to drop to his knees and beg for his life when a younger girl suddenly appeared in his vision, her arm thrown around Derek's neck in a friendly manner. He noticed now that both of their eyes had the same chilling predatory look about them. Shudder. 

"Der, you promised you wouldn't scare everyone off on the first day. I want friends!" 

"I don't think you want to be friends with this one, Cora." 

"Hey! I'll have you know I am a very good friend!" He countered, ignoring the warning tone of Scott's voice as he spoke behind him. 

"Ooh, he's got a mouth. I like this one. Invite him over for dinner."

And this was where they both ended up looking distressed. The guy looking back and forth form his sister, Cora, and Stiles as if he couldn't believe this. He opened his mouth, probably to inform her of the shit Stiles had just been whispering to Scott when Cora cut him off with wag of her finger. 

"Uh uh, not one excuse! I want to see him over for dinner _tonight_." And then she was gone, sauntering down the hallway and grinning at anyone who so much as looked her way. 

He turned his attention back on the werewolf, eyes wide in surprise. He looked about the same, give or take. And then his lip was curling upwards, as if considering how easy it would be to kill Stiles at his house and turn him into a tasty meal. He should have known-- dogs loved bones. 

"Guess you'll be riding home with us after school." And just like that, as if he was a recreation of his sister, he disappeared as well. 

 

When Stiles turned around it was to look at Scott's shocked face, eyebrows practically reaching his hairline. "Dude."

"I know."

"You're so screwed! They're gonna turn you into werewolf chow!"

Stiles shoved him away, ignoring his playful banter in favor of digging his hands into his hair. Ugh! Exactly why he fucking hated werewolves. They thought they could do whatever the fuck they wanted. And when they didn't get exactly what they wanted, there was hell to pay. Fuck him, man. 

"You're eating dinner with two werewolves. Oh my god. You're going to be the talk of the school for weeks!"

Oh boy. Stiles ignored the rant that Scott suddenly delved into. So, this was how he was going to die then. At a werewolf dinner party. Awesome. He whipped around to yell something about how there had better be burgers but Derek and his sister were already gone. Fuck.

He shook his head in their direction before muttering to himself. 

"Fucking werewolves." 


End file.
